


Shipwrecked

by Satine86



Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rochelle Hawthorne is asked to join her father in the West Indies, the journey takes a turn for the worse. What will she find when she washes ashore a deserted island with a former pirate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Covenmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/gifts).



_Port of London, 1730_

 

Miss Rochelle Calliope Hawthorne wandered down the bustling thoroughfare, heading toward the docks. Her parasol held by one slim, lace covered hand while the other lifted the hem of her billowing green skirts to keep mud from soiling them completely. Footmen trailed behind her, carrying bags and a large trunk piled high with hat boxes.

Seeing – and hearing – so many uncouth people had her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she skirted by, trying to keep her focus on the large naval ship waiting for her. It was a newly constructed, First Rate ship making its return voyage to the West Indies. Word had come just a few weeks before from her father. Since she had turned eighteen and no longer in need of a Governess, he wished for her to finally join him in Charlestown, on the Leeward Islands.

Rochelle had been surprised at her father’s request, but in a strange way, very happy. She had not seen him for several years, and the idea of such a grand adventure was quite thrilling.

The Captain of the ship, Mr. Smithson, was waiting for her on the docks. His blue frock coat was perfectly pressed, the large gold buttons polished to a high sheen. He doffed his hat, offering her a formal bow.

“Miss Hawthorne, might I say it is a pleasure to be escorting on your trip. I ensure you will we do our best to make it a swift and comfortable voyage.”

“Thank you, captain.” She dipped into a low curtsy.

“If you will follow me? I’ll be happy to show you to your quarters.” She inclined her head, closing her parasol as she started after him up the gangway, her footmen in tow.

Leveling out on the deck of the ship, Rochelle saw men rushing back and forth; some were carrying supplies, others hauling lines and prepping sails. It seemed like utter chaos to a casual observer, but she knew enough about ships and their crews to realize how truly organized and thorough the men were.

As she walked toward the door leading below deck, she saw a few men who were not dressed in uniform. She frowned at this, confused. Rochelle laid a hand on the Captain’s arm, nodding toward the men with an arched brow.

“Oh, they’re not part of the Royal Navy, marm.” Smithson looked very stern as he glanced at one of the men; younger with sun bronzed skin, and pale blond hair. The young man wore a cheeky grin while one of the Officers yelled out an order to him. He gave a mocking salute when the Office turned his back, and Rochelle was able to make out a brand on his muscular forearm.

“A pirate,” she gasped.

“I’m afraid so.” Smithson sighed. “Former men of the Black Flag. Someone, somewhere, thought it a good way to rehabilitate the younger ones, the men whom had little choice in the matter. We have a few on board, but I guarantee there is nothing to worry about.”

Rochelle had kept her eyes on the former pirate, watching as he fell in line with several others to trim the sails. He bent and fastened the rope, using neat, quick movements. When he straightened it was as though he knew someone was watching. He glanced around slowly before his gaze finally landed on her.

As his ocean blue eyes met hers, and he lifted one fair brow. He gave her a long, appreciative look; clear eyes slithering over her from heel to head and back again. Rochelle felt herself fighting an angry flush, glaring at the man for his unseemly behavior. 

The Captain was well aware of his lurid glance, his face turning a mottled red in anger. “JACK!” he barked, calling the man over.

With a slow saunter he walked toward the Captain and Rochelle, stopping before them and gave the captain a sloppy salute. As he relaxed again his gaze darted toward Rochelle before focusing fully on Smithson.

“Jack, this is the Commodore’s daughter. She will be joining us for the return voyage. I will have you pay Miss Hawthorn the proper respect or you will be seeing the inside of the brig, is that clear?” Smithson hissed.

“Aye Cap’n!” He grinned serenely, offering another lazy salute.

“Yes, _Captain_ ,” the other man stressed.

“Yes, Captain. So sorry.” He offered up a pitying frown, then turned to Rochelle and gave her a surprisingly formal bow. “Miss Hawthorne, I apologize for my abominable behavior.“ He straightened again and met her eyes, Rochelle wrinkled her nose at him and turned on her heel, moving below decks.

 

***

 

A week into the voyage found Rochelle on the quarterdeck. It was a quiet night; the sea calm, and most of the sailors asleep below deck. Rochelle had packed several books for the trip, along with needlework and other various things to keep her occupied, but she found herself tiring of them quickly. She longed for a stroll in the gardens with the scent of blooming flowers and clean grass, not the tang of salt air mingled with the musk of so many men in close quarters.

She was studying the stars above her, glittering like gems spilling across the velvety night sky, when a board creaked and she was aware of someone beside her. Rochelle turned with a start, frowning when she found it to be Jack. It seemed she was always running into him, no matter the time of day. He smiled gently, one hand behind his back, the other pointed toward the heaven’s above.

“Ursa Major,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ursa Major, that’s what you were looking at.” He nodded and stepped a bit closer, his hand still raised to the sky, “You can see the line, there.” His finger traced a pattern. “Next to it is Ursa Minor. Do you see?” He turned his face toward her, smile still in place.

“Yes, I do. Do you know a lot about constellations?”

“I do; had to.” He removed his hand from behind his back, holding two small oranges.

She quirked a brow. “Aren’t those rationed?”

“They are.”

“I will not accept anything pilfered from the stores, thank you.”

“Not pilfered. I was given two for good behavior – shocking, I know.” He shook his head. “I was sharing.”

“Oh.”

Jack tossed one of the oranges into the air, eyes locked with hers, then caught it with his other hand. He held it out to her, balanced on the tips of his fingers.

“Thank you.” She eyed him warily as she took the fruit, hand moving slowly. He merely grinned, watching her, then started peeling his own once she had taken hers. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of the orange, the sweet citrus smell tingling her nostrils, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

He leaned casually over the side of the ship, arms resting on the rail, dropping bits of the peel into the bubbling water below. One leg was crossed over the other, his short blond curls rustling in the breeze, and his face a mask of indifference. He appeared the perfect picture of a man without a care in the world.

Rochelle watched the way the muscles in his forearm bunched and moved, his long fingers deftly tearing the peel. Finally the last piece of orange peel was dropped into the churning ocean, and he held out the fruit to her. “Trade?” he nodded toward the still unpeeled one in her hands.

“I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

“Of course you are, never said you weren’t.” Without another word he plucked the orange from her fingers and replaced it with the peeled one. She frowned slightly, brows knitting together, but broke open the fruit nonetheless and bit into a section. It was sweet and juicy.

“You’re very courteous for a pirate.”

“Ex-pirate,” he corrected with a smirk.

“Amazing you weren’t hanged, I thought that was the practice?”

“Ar, but ‘twas a close thing!” He spoke in a lowered voice, gruff. He shook his head and laughed. “Actually, it was hardly anything of the sort. I was on a pirate ship, yes, had been since I was a child; the captain took me in, I had no family, and paid me as a cabin boy. I worked my way up to navigator – always had a mind for maps and charts. When we were finally taken in, the captain said I wasn’t recruited, but forced into it. One of the officers took pity on my ‘forced slavery’, so I ended up here.” He shrugged, taking a bite his orange.

“That was kind of him, your former captain I mean.”

“He was a kind man, for a ruthless pirate. He taught me how to read and write, a bit of the courtly ways, too.”

“Who was he?”

“Don’t rightfully know. Some said he was a nobleman once, but lost his wife and baby to illness; in his anger he turned to pirating.”

Rochelle frowned. “That’s awful.”

“It is. He was always kind to me, though. I owe him much.”

“Was he… did they?”

Jack looked up at the sky, eyes squinting and mouth a thin line. “I suspect so. I never heard what happened; I was immediately put on a ship to England.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“No, but I’m sure my father did.” Rochelle looked down, picking at the white pith of her orange. “I should go to bed. Thank you again.” She nodded once, barely meeting his eyes, and turned to leave.

“You’re welcome. Sleep well, Miss Hawthorne.”

“You too, Mister… uh, Jack,” she said and scurried below decks.

 

***

 

It seemed to become a bit of a habit; once a week Rochelle found herself on quarterdeck at night, watching the stars and chatting with Jack. They fell into an easy friendship, sometimes he taught her constellations, or she taught him poems. She came to look forward to their meetings, but still the voyage was tedious. It seemed to be taking longer than she could imagine. 

They were still a week out from Charlestown when dark clouds appeared on the horizon. There were whispers over what to do, but in the end there was no way to skirt the oncoming storm. It was mid-afternoon when the sky darkened as if it were night, rain pelting the men on deck, the seas rolling and tossing the ship. Panic was not a mark of a Royal Naval man, but panic they did as the waters rose, waves crashing over the decks, all helpless to do anything to stop it.

The masts snapped, cleaving holes in the hull and decks, the ocean rising up to tear the boards away, finishing the job. As the ship took on water, all was chaos as men abandoned posts, searching only for their own survival.

Rochelle had made it to the main deck, confused, frightened, and hoping to find a way out – like all the others. Men jostled her as they rushed past, heading for the longboats. She slipped and skidded along the wet boards to the rail, gripping it tightly to steady herself.

With a lurching roll as a wave hit the side of the ship, Rochelle’s world turned to water. Everything seemed calm, the roaring rush of the wind and waves, the shouts of the men were all gone. Just a quietness that left her more shaken than the raging storm.

She thrashed about, arms and legs flailing as she tried to break the surface, but she didn’t know which direction it was – everything around her was dark, endless blue. She realized she was moving though, her sodden skirts dragging her into the depths.

Then there was a firm hand on her elbow, the flash of a knife that ripped through her skirts, freeing her. She was pulled roughly in another direction, and she kicked with her all her might. Finally she broke the surface of the water, the howl of the storm and the rush of the ocean nearly deafening as she took in sputtering gulps. Salty mists nearly choked her, but she managed to fill her lungs with precious air before a wave crashed over head. She plunged under again, but this time she knew which direction was up and was able to break through the waves again. The rescuing hand was back, gripping her arm and pulling her through the water. She reached out to the person, but met wood instead. A hand closed over hers, willing her to grip the piece of broken mast.

“HOLD ON TIGHT!” Jack yelled close to her ear, but even then his voice was barely a whisper above the roar of the storm.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around the smooth wood, bending her head close to it, eyes shut tight. Jack wound an arm around her, keeping her pressed close while his other went around the mast.

 

***

 

Rochelle woke to blinding sunlight, and the echoing sound of birds in the distance. Slowly she became aware of waves, but it was a gentle lapping rather than a rushing crash, and the feel of the sweltering sun burning her fair skin.

Struggling to sit up, she shielded her eyes and looked around. She was on a stretch of beach, the water was clear blue as it kissed the golden shoreline. Behind her were palm trees and other flora she wasn’t sure of.

Bits of debris and driftwood littered the beach, as did a body. Scrambling to her feet, Rochelle rushed to Jack’s side and leaned down, pressing her ear against his chest. There was a strong, steady heartbeat, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Just as she pulled back he started to come to, blinking his eyes against the harsh sunlight as he sat up.

“Oh thank God, you’re alive!” Without thinking, far too joyous to give one whit for propriety, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He coughed and patted her back. “Are you alright?”

Rochelle pulled back, suddenly aware of how forward she had been. She rocked back on her heels and nodded, overly aware that she was only in her chemise. “I am, thanks to you.”

Jack shrugged, shaking his head. “I saw you spill over the edge, I just dived in after you without thinking.” He glanced around the beach. “And don’t thank me just yet, we don’t know where we are.”

“I think ‘thank you’ is very much in order, I would be dead if not for you.”

“Not so bad for a pirate then?”

“Ex-pirate,” she corrected gently.

“Right, ex-pirate.” His lips twitched with amusement then he looked away, as if remembering where they were.

“Could we be near the Leeward Islands?”

“No, we were still too far out.” Jack looked around, found a small stick and started drawing in the sand. “I hadn’t seen our charted course, but I know basically where we were.” He focused on the work at hand, making a rough map in the sand. His brows were furrowed as he concentrated, pausing every so often with eyes closed, trying to remember star positions.

When he was finished he sat looking at his work, left arm resting on his bent knee while he twirled the stick in his right hand.

“Well,” he said slowly, throwing the stick aside and standing. “There’s good news and bad news.”

“Oh dear.” Rochelle took his offered hand and stood as well.

“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Good news is we survived. Bad news is I have no idea where we are. By my guess there’s no way we managed to wash up on a charted island, there weren’t any close enough to where we were. Which makes this one uncharted… and Lord knows where it is exactly.”

“So we’re going to die here?” Rochelle’s voice hitched slightly, bordering on hysterical.

“No.” He shook his head and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down until he was eye level. “I’m not going to let that happen. We can search for other people from the wreck, maybe there are lifeboats? And I’ll have a better idea of where we are once the stars come out. Besides,” he shrugged, grinning. “Just because it’s uncharted by the Navy doesn’t mean it’s unknown.”

“Pirates?”

“Pirates. They use all sorts of islands in and around here. _Someone_ must know it’s here.”

“Are you sure that’s entirely… safe?”

He looked her up and down, eyes intent like when he’d first surveyed her on the ship. In that moment she became aware of not only the fact she was hardly dressed, but that her chemise was still damp from the sea, clinging to her body like a second skin; only her hair, fallen from its bun like a long, dark sheath, saved what was left of her shredded modesty.

At first Rochelle was incredibly embarrassed, then she noted the way his eyes seemed to darken slightly and a wave of annoyance washed over her. Without thinking she lifted her hand, slapping him hard across the face.

Jack’s head whipped to one side with the force of it; he kept his face turned a moment, eyes focused on the trees, before a small smile started pulling at the corner of his mouth. He looked back to Rochelle, eyes light and grin in place.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He brushed past her, heading down the beach.

“Where on Earth are you going!?”

“To scout the island,” he called over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving me alone!?” Suddenly fear gripped her, panic rising. It never occurred to her to think she hadn’t once been afraid of Jack.

“I’ll be back, don’t fret.” He continued walking, hardly sparing her a glance.

Rochelle stood there, feet sinking into the dry sand, arms crossed obstinately. He was toying with her, of that she was sure. She would hardly give him the satisfaction of giving into her fears like some wilting little miss.

There was something rustling in the bushes, it sounded large, and most likely something she didn’t want to deal with. Taking a deep breath Rochelle raced forward. She caught Jack up quickly and fell in step next to him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“You might need help,” she said, nose in the air. Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

 

***

 

Not terribly far from their stretch of beach was a rock formation that jutted out, looking over land and sea. It took a fair bit of time to climb the rocky slope, and the sun was riding high in the sky when they finally emerged at the peak. The island didn’t seem to be overly large, it was ringed with a beach, the only break was the rocky hill, and the center was heavily wooded.

Climbing up onto the small ledge at the top, Jack squinted against the sun as he looked at the area surrounding the island. Something caught his attention and he lifted one hand to shield his eyes, leaning as far as he could without tumbling into the waters below.

“I think there’s another island over there. Actually I think there might be a couple… what I wouldn’t give for a spyglass.”

“Be careful, Jack.” Rochelle had one hand out, ready to grab his shirt should he fall over the edge.

“I’m fine,” he said absently, trying to focus on the island in the distance. “I’ll know better once I can see the stars, those never change. But I might have an idea where we are, now. I think the best bet will be to build us a raft and get over there.” He pointed.

“Are you mad?”

“Not at all.” He turned around and jumped down, grinning at Rochelle. “Building a raft will be easy.”

“We haven’t any supplies! We need timber and rope and.. and other things!” She waved her hands, annoyed.

“Of course we do. It’s all down there.” He jerked his head toward the center of the island.

“You’re mad!”

“Perhaps, but only a wee bit.” He winked and started back down the slope. “Come along, let’s find something to eat and hopefully some fresh water.” Rochelle glared at his back but followed nonetheless, water sounded lovely as did something to eat.

 

***

 

“What in heaven’s name is it?” Rochelle wrinkled her nose as Jack held out the thing to her. He had been quite happy when he found a fruit that looked a bit like plums; the flesh a dark, bruised purple. But once he cracked one open, she’d found the inside to be a gelatinous yellow-green like what one might find in their hanky.

“I will not eat that.” She informed him curtly, backing away slightly. Her stomach growled and Jack grinned.

He held it out again, nodding encouragingly. “Just try it, princess.”

“I think not! It looks like… like maggots!” She shook her head, dark hair swaying.

His blue eyes turned a shade darker, and his grin turned just a bit dangerous. “Go on, I dare you.”

Rochelle pulled herself up to her full height, back ramrod straight. Her nostrils flared, and she glared up at Jack’s smiling face. She would _not_ let him get the upper hand! Lips pursed and eyes cool, she reached out and snatched the fruit from his palm.

“Just the inside,” he told her, amused.

Continuing to glare at him, she took a small nibble of the fleshy inside. The berry or seed, she wasn’t sure what to call it, burst in her mouth in a flavorful explosion. The juice and flesh were sweet, with a slightly sour bite that was entirely pleasant, and the smell was intoxicating.

Simply put: it was delicious.

However, she was not about to tell him that. She shrugged delicately and took another nibble. “It’s fine, it will do.”

“Fine, whatever you say.” Jack handed her the other half of the fruit, already looking for more. Rochelle realized the fruit grew on a vine, however it was climbing the trunk of a tree like lattice, and the majority of the delicious little orbs were high up.

Jack heaved a defeated sigh and scurried up the tree, but Rochelle ignored him as she ate the fruit. She didn’t think they could subsist wholly on them, but they would do well enough to take away the rumbling in her stomach. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jack thumped down next to her from a branch above, his arms laden with the fruit and cocky grin in place.

He looked at her with fringed innocence, “Didn’t scare you, did I?”

“Not at all,” she huffed.

“Good.” He couched down, dropping the fruits into a small pile and picked one up, halving it with deft hands. “It’s lucky to find these, they’re good for quenching your thirst, but we still need to find some water.”

“What are they called?” 

Jack looked up and held out two fresh halves for her, “Passion fruit.”

Rochelle frowned thoughtfully, but still took the fruit. “Why is that?” Her only response was a waggle of an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, “Please, like you expect me to believe this will magically make me find you roguishly handsome and completely irresistible?”

“No, it’s named after Passion Flowers.” Jack glanced around, looking for something. He let out a soft, ‘ah ha’, when he found it and got up. He returned a moment later, a flower cupped in his hand.

He held it out for Rochelle to inspect. The bloom was strange; from the stem, sprouted ten open petals a rich, midnight purple, the center was a halo of stamen that started as a pale lavender and turned darker at the tips. It was so different from anything she’d ever seen in the gardens at home. But whether because of its strangeness or in spite of it, she found the bloom quite beautiful.

She looked up at Jack from under a fan of lashes. “It’s lovely.”

“Aye, ‘tis that.” He reached up, tucking the flower behind her ear. “And no, the passion fruit won’t make you think I’m ‘roguishly handsome’.” He leaned in close enough for Rochelle to feel his breath tickling her chin. “You already do,” he winked and straightened up.

She frowned at him, nose wrinkling. “Infuriating man. You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not as highly as you do!” He sing-songed, disappearing into the jungle. “Stay there, I’m going to look for some water.” Rochelle growled at him under her breath, and flounced down on a fallen log.

She sat, stewing over the arrogant man, and finished the second piece of fruit; only when she had tossed aside the husks did she realize she was absently playing with the flower in her hair. She dropped her hand with a scowl. Jack was irritating but he had saved her life, and since the very beginning had showed her kindness.

Perhaps it would be good if she did the same. Lost in thought, she was barely aware of his return, not until he sank down beside her with a grunt. He offered her a large, pale green leaf he’d folded several times.

“Found a bit of water, luckily enough.” Rochelle took the leaf, tilting it until the water trickled out.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “For everything.”

“Just doing what I can.” Jack shrugged, and leaned forward to grab one of the passion fruit he’d gathered. He stopped short, fingers inches from one of the purple orbs, trying to suppress a pained grunt. He took a deep breath, snatched the fruit from the pile and sat up. 

Rochelle turned on him quickly, “You’re hurt.”

“No, it’s nothing. Just a twinge.” He shook his head, pulling out his knife and halving the fruit.

She sighed and glared at his profile. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

“No.”

“Jack,” she warned.

“I promise I’m fi – STOP!” He yelled as Rochelle darted forward, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up.

His stomach was just as tanned and leanly muscular as the rest of him, and his side was covered in a mottled red bruise that was slowly darkening to a deep purple. It was roughly the size of Rochelle’s hands put together, and looked extremely painful.

“You are hurt, you liar.” She continued to inspect the contusion, also noting a few jagged white lines marring the skin of his back. She suspected there were more.

“It’s just a bruise. It’s fine.” He tried to yank down his shirt, but Rochelle wouldn’t let go.

“What if it’s more serious?”

“Don’t worry girly, I’ve had a bruised rib or two in my day, this is nothing.” He caught her eye, nodded encouragingly, and gently removed her hand from the hem of his shirt. “Takes more than that to get the better of me.”

“And the scars?”

Jack had finished cutting the passion fruit, but stopped with it halfway to his mouth. He lowered it to his lap and sighed.

“Even if they take pity on you for pirating, decide to ‘rehabilitate’; the fact still remains you were a pirate and need to be punished.”

“They whipped you?” She swallowed thickly, uneasy with the realization. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s alright, you didn’t do it.”

“My father is the Commodore, he likely ordered it.” Rochelle kept her eyes focused on Jack, expecting him to be repulsed by that fact; she thought she would be, in his shoes, though the knowledge wasn’t new to him. As it was he only shrugged, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“Still isn't your fault.” Jack finally ate the passion fruit, relishing it for a moment, and rose slowly when he was finished. “If you’d be so kind as to carry those?” he nodded toward the smile pile of fruit in front of them. “We’ll eat and salvage what we can on the beach. Should be able to make some cover for the night, and in the morning we’ll work on a raft.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.“ He grinned. “We have something to eat, something to drink, and a knife. What more do we need?”

“A rescue boat would be nice.”

“Come now, where’s the adventure in that?” He winked at her, and started leading the way back to the beach.

 

***

 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I forbid it!” Rochelle stamped her foot to emphasize her order, but any authority was belied as it sank into the sand.

Jack sighed wearily, hand shielding his eyes. “Look, princess–“

She glared up at him, hands on her hips. “I am not a princess.”

He sighed again. “I appreciate your concern, but fighting with me over this doesn’t do either of us any good. Besides, do you really want to try dragging everything up the beach on your own?”

“But you’re injured, what if you do more damage. What if–“

“There’s no damage to be done, I’m just sore. The fact remains that even if I were seriously injured I would still need to pull my weight. At the end of the day we are still stuck on a small island that has limited resources for two people. We need to do what we can to get off of it, to get to the larger ones.”

“Islands that you think are there.”

“I saw them, I know they’re there.”

Rochelle frowned, looking out at the seemingly endless ocean. “What if there’s nothing there? No water, no fruit? What then?” She turned back to Jack.

“There will be, bigger island, better chances for water and food.” He looked at her seriously, eyes hard. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me. This is all I know, sailing and surviving. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” It surprised her how quickly, and how easily, the word slipped from her mouth. She realized, with a bit of a shock, that she truly did. Little wonder when he had saved her life, she told herself. “I do trust you.”

“Good, now come on, let’s see if we can salvage anything off the broken mast.”

They worked all through the afternoon and into the evening; first hauling the planks and what ever else had washed ashore from the wreckage, along with the top of the mast that had gotten them to land. Then it was time to set up a small shelter for the night, using palm leaves and reeds and some of the planks of wood, she helped Jack construct a lean-to.

As Rochelle gathered up dry sticks and bark for a fire, Jack disappeared into the jungle. He was gone longer than Rochelle would’ve thought, and when he finally returned it was with another large leaf folded to carry water and a few tubular things that looked like roots. Rochelle drank the water gratefully while he set about starting a fire.

It took a few tries before the dried husks of the trees caught, but eventually he had a roaring bonfire set in the ring of rocks they’d gathered earlier. Jack sat back, shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

“Wish I would’ve tried to catch a fish. Oh well, in the morning.” He looked at her and nodded.

Silence settled over them as the sun disappeared, darkness creeping in around them. The sky shifted from blue to orange and pink to navy, stars blinking into existence and winking down at them.

“I climbed the ridge again, got a better look at the islands without the noonday sun in my eyes. They’re not that far, should be half a day on a raft if the tide is with us.”

“If it isn’t?”

“Then we’ll have to paddle.”

They ate the rest of the passion fruit, and the things Jack had returned with; he explained they were called “yuca”, and he cooked them in the fire before peeling back the rough skins. The inside was white and dense like a potato.

When the stars were out completely, Jack laid back to gaze up at them, one hand tracing them as he muttered under his breath. Rochelle watched him, his profile illuminated by the fire. After sometime Jack sat up again, and drew a map in the sand by the fire while everything was fresh in his mind. Eventually he looked up at her.

“The good news is that I don’t think we were blown terribly off course from where the ship went down.”

“And the bad news?”

“I don’t think these islands are documented anywhere. At least not by the Navy, and not by my old cap’n.”

Rochelle pressed her knuckles to her lips, nose wrinkling. “So we’re lost?”

“Not exactly. As I said there’s a good chance the islands are known by _someone_.”

“Pirates,” she said.

Jack nodded slowly. “Though we don’t know about the captain and the longboats, and we were just a week from Charlestown. Your father will likely know about the storm and send out search parties when we don’t make the deadline.”

“That could take weeks and weeks though.” Rochelle deflated, slowly letting out a breath.

“We can’t be defeated until we move onto the bigger island, alright? We don’t know exactly what’s over there, it could be a veritable paradise.” He grinned. “With an abundance of fruits and wild game and inlets full of fish, and perhaps even a servant or two to bring everything to us.” Jack waved a hand airily, grinning a bit wider, his eyes glinting in the firelight.

“I should never have come…”

“Because you caused the storm? You know it’s only a superstition about women on ships, right?” She glared. He laughed.

“I only meant we wouldn’t be stuck here. If I’d not come then you wouldn’t have saved me, and you wouldn’t be stuck.”

“Might still have ended up here, but with decidedly less pleasant company.” He shielded his mouth with one hand. “Could be stuck here with Captain Smithson,” he whispered dramatically.

Rochelle snorted a laugh, still feeling rather sorry for herself… and for Jack. “I don’t see how you can joke about it? This is serious.”

“Aye, that it is. But joking is how I’ve survived this long; helps me get by.” She looked at Jack then, really looked; she only realized then that he could hardly be much older than she was, twenty or twenty-two at the most.

“Where are you from Jack?” She paused. “Do you even have a surname?”

“Well, near as I can tell, I was born in Antigua. It’s where the Cap’n found me, and what I knew for as long as I can remember.” He leaned back, hands splayed behind him, feet stretched toward the fire. “Don’t know about my father or my surname; never was sure if he was a naval man, an indentured criminal, or a pirate. Likely the latter though. My mother was a whore, she never really cared for me, grew up the streets mainly. I tried to pickpocket the Cap’n when I was eight; instead of cutting off my hand, he decided I’d do well put to work.”

“Was with him twelve years before the Navy took us in, he was like a father to me,“ he said quietly, eyes on the stars. “He taught me so much, and I wouldn't have lived past my tenth year if not for him. I miss him.”

“I lost my mother when I was a child. My father was always gone, and he journeyed out here when I was four. He wanted my mother and I to come along, but mother was too sick, and she died when I was seven. I was raised by governesses after.”

“Your father never returned?”

“No.” She shook her head, brushed back her hair from her face. “Some people thought it was cold, that he should have come for me. But I think it was too painful for him, too much guilt because he didn’t see her in the end. At least I hope that’s why. Everyone who knew my mother tells me that I look exactly like her.”

Her voice had grown quiet as she tried to remember her mother, the only thing that clearly came to mind was a hummed song while she had done needlework. She shivered, not sure if it was from the memory or the breeze blowing in from the ocean.

“Let’s get some sleep, hm?“ Jack stood, heading to the shelter of the lean-to, and offered her a hand up. She took it, standing slowly as her feet sank into the dry sand. His hand was strong and warm and she found herself reluctant to let go. Thinking over his earlier words, she realized of all the people she could’ve ended up stranded with, she was thankful it was Jack.

They settled down on the reeds and leaves she’d scattered as a mat to protect against sand. She was startled when Jack threw an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.

“What do you think–“

“Relax, shared body heat. I saw you shiver. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” She huffed, but was grateful for his warmth, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

 

***

 

Rochelle’s dreams were full of unpleasant things.

First she was a child, hovering near her mother’s bed, begging for her to come back… to not leave her alone. Then she was older, in the foyer, reading her father’s joyless notes; wishing he would – or could – offer comfort.

The house melted away to a beach, the blazing sun overhead, her eyes stinging with tears as she tried to wake Jack, but no matter how much she begged and prodded and screamed and cried, he wouldn’t come to. She gasped for breath, her tears choking, her world quiet save a hollow whirring in her ears, her lungs aching in desperate need of air. She sat up with a start, taking in gulps of air. It took a moment to realize where she was, and then another for the knowledge that she was alone to sink in.

“Jack?” she whispered, looking around their small encampment. The fire was spent, only the ashes remaining. Frantically her eyes darted down to the beach, he wasn’t there. Scrambling to her feet she raced from the lean-to, hoping to get a clearer view of things. “Jack!” she called again, more panicked.

“Rochelle?” his voice sounded behind her. She turned quickly, found him blinking at her in confusion, wholly alive. She rushed up to him and hugged him hard.

“I dreamt… and I thought you were dead… on the beach, and I was alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

Jack slowly stroked her hair, patient until she calmed a bit. “It was just a dream, it’s alright.” He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Rochelle stared at him, well aware of the warmth of his hands through her chemise, and how clear his eyes were as they locked with hers. After several moments she became all too aware how close they were, how inappropriate she had been, and how undressed they both were. Her eyes darted down to his bare chest, and she stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.” She leaned around, trying to see what he had been doing.

“I’m piecing together a raft, I figured I would work in the shade as long as I could.” He nodded toward the pile of planks.

“Is there anything I can do?” She met his gaze, slowly feeling less silly.

“Do you remember how to get to the tree with the fruit?”

“Yes.”

“Once you’re there, you’ll see my path from yesterday. If you go just a little ways you’ll see the small pool of fresh water.” He handed her two folded leaves. “Take these and get that, I’ll go see if I can catch us a fish for breakfast.”

“Alright,” she nodded, clutching the leaves to her chest. She started heading into the jungle when Jack called her name.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled and ducked into the brush.

It was cooler in the shade of the trees, and quiet. She took the time to collect herself, walking slowly along the path they had tread the day before, reminding herself she had been a silly child. 

Eventually she came upon the small clearly with the tree, the passion fruit vine growing up the side. Rochelle eyed it for a while. Deciding she wanted to prove something to herself, and oddly enough, to Jack, she sat down the leaves and tucked the ends of her chemise in on themselves.

Bare legged and determined, she moved toward the tree and set about climbing it. As a child she had gotten into trouble a handful of times for climbing trees – her mother getting angry for ruining her dress – and found it came back quickly. In little time she was leveling out on a high branch, right in front of a crop of ripe fruit.

Rochelle quickly picked the fruit, dropping them below, and scurried back down, extremely pleased. She unfolded her skirts, carefully making a basket to carrying her boon. Then she found Jack’s path and moved onto the pool. Carefully she filled one of the leaves, lifting it to her lips and slowly drinking her fill.

Her walk back was a juggling act between her harvest of passion fruit and the two containers of water, and slow going. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone when she finally stumbled back onto the beach, but she found Jack had already started a fire and was roasting fish on a makeshift spit.

“You picked fruit?”

“I did!” She stood up a bit straighter, rather proud of herself. “Are you shocked?”

“No, always knew you weren’t just another delicate little miss.” He grinned as she sat down.

Rochelle offered up a weak glare; annoyed and confused at the flutter in her stomach when his hand brushed hers as she handed over a water pouch. They ate in silence, both happy to have fresh fish. After they’d picked the bones clean and washed their hands in the ocean. It was time to get down to work.

Jack hauled planks and pieces of wood, laying them out. He set Rochelle to work braiding reeds in place of rope – for once her years spent embroidering and making doilies were put to good use.

As her fingers traced through the patterns, she let her mind wander. She imagined sitting on a veranda, watching the sapphire blue ocean lapping at the golden shore, sipping tea. She’d had the daydream before, thinking what it would be like in the West Indies, spending time with her father. This time though she surprised herself, instead of her father sitting at her side, chatting with her, it was Jack.

Rochelle shook herself a little and focused on him, watching as he thatched together two planks. He’d moved down the beach a bit, closer to the water. The sun made his hair glow like a yellow halo, and glinted off the sheen of sweat covering his bare back.

Against her better judgment, her gaze drifted across the expanse of his back; watching sinewy muscles move as he lifted a board. She tried not to stare too much, afraid he might catch her staring, but it was oddly difficult to look away. It was only as these concerns crossed her mind that she realized he was calling her name. She fought a fierce blush as she lifted her gaze to his laughing face.

“Are those ready?” he nodded toward the reeds in her hand.

“I, uh, yes. They are.” Jack sauntered over to her, quirking a brow as he took the braided rope from her. “Any reason you were staring?”

“I was only trying to check on your bruise.”

He grinned, “That’s here.” He lifted his arm, turning slightly to make it more visible. It looked a bit better than it had the previous day, but not much and she winced.

“It’s fine, you can stare.”

She scrunched her face in annoyance. “Ass!”

“Mmm,” he gave a low whistle. “Now that’s not very ladylike.”

She sat up straight, trying to look as prim as humanly possible. “Well if I see any gentleman around here, I will be sure to act accordingly.”

Jack tilted back his head and laughed. Shaking his head, he turned toward to the raft, still chuckling. Rochelle tried not to feel too pleased with herself.


	2. Chapter 2

They spent the rest of the day working on the raft, which slowly come together. It was only when the sun was starting to set that Jack called it a day. Rochelle again went to get water, and he managed to catch another fish for their dinner. They went to bed shortly after, both exhausted from the day.

In the morning they ate breakfast, gathered what few supplies they could, and finished the preparations for the raft. It was still early in the morning when they shoved it down the beach.

“Here’s hoping it floats,” Jack muttered, giving it a final shove into the water. He waded out with the raft until the water reached his stomach, while Rochelle kept a firm hold on the lead. Slowly he pulled himself onto the wooden surface.

“I think we have it!” he cheered, jumping into the water. He sloshed up to her on the beach, yanking the raft back to shore.

“M’lady,” he gestured toward it, bowing low. Rochelle scoffed and stepped onboard, taking their few provisions with her. Jack threw the lead up after her and shoved the raft out again.

The next several hours were spent paddling with makeshift oars, the sun overhead was hot and blinded them as it bounced off the rolling waves. It was only thanks to Jack’s sense of direction that they finally saw land on the horizon in the late afternoon.

They were both exhausted, and it was a struggle to get the raft toward the island, the tide shifting. Inch by inch, they were nearing the line of the beach. Jack jumped off, the water chest high, and yanked the raft the rest of the way to the beach.

Once it was safely ashore, Rochelle just stepping off the raft, he let go of the lead and collapsed against the sand.

“We made it,” he said, panting.

“We did.”

“I’m going to stay here for just a moment more, then we can explore.” He shielded his eyes with one arm.

Rochelle nudged him, handing over one of the water pouches. “You deserve a rest.”

“Thank you, marm.” He struggled to sit up, downing the water in one long gulp. She sighed at him, looking around.

The beach they were on was sheltered on one side by a sloping cliff that towered over the trees, and jutted out over the ocean; she supposed if they could climb up it they would have a good vantage over land and sea. To the right the beach stretched on for several meters before curving out of sight. Behind them the jungle appeared much the same as on the other island, but the palm trees were different, larger, and bearing clutches of spheres. She couldn’t be sure what they were, they looked like giant green berries, and she wondered if they were eatable.

Jack fell back again, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He tilted his head back, looking behind him. He gave a whistle and sat up, twisting around.

“Coconuts,” he said as he clambered to his feet.

“Excuse me?”

“Those,” he pointed at the trees. “Are coconuts, they’re difficult to break open but they taste wonderful and you can drink the water inside.”

“All well and good, but please be careful.” Rochelle stood up, trailing behind him slowly. She watched as he shimmied up the tree, carefully finding notches to place his hands and feet.

He reached the top, carefully pulling his knife from his belt and started sawing at one of the ‘coconuts’.” As he worked, one came loose, falling to the ground with a hollow _thunk_.

As he started to dislodge another his foot slipped. He tried to catch himself, but exhaustion made his movements slower; he wasn’t able to get hold again, and crashed to the ground with a sickening thump.

“Jack!” Rochelle cried, rushing to his side. He was writhing on the ground, the sand beneath him harder packed and doing nothing to cushion his fall, clutching at his left shoulder. As she sank down beside him she realized he had likely hit it against the fallen coconut.

Jack eventually calmed and sat up, his arm hanging uselessly at his side. “It’s dislocated.” He swallowed thickly.

“What do we do?”

He stood up carefully, taking slow, deep breaths. When he looked down at Rochelle, his eyes were grim. “We set it.”

Rochelle shot to her feet. “I can’t set your arm!”

“There’s no choice in the matter, it has to be set so it can heal.” He started pacing, his right hand holding the left still. “Of all the stupid things in my life… this happens now?”

Jack stopped his pacing and looked at Rochelle. “You need find something, some wood, something I can bite.”

“You don’t honestly think I can do this?”

“You’re right, Rochelle.” He looked at her seriously. “Why don’t you go find a physician. I’ll wait here.”

“Jack.” She wanted to say more, she just wasn’t sure what. Instead she sighed and started looking for something he could bite down on. She found a thick branch a little ways into the jungle, and used Jack’s knife to smooth it out.

When she returned Jack was pacing again, taking in slow, deep breaths. He took the stick from her and sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give for some rum now,” he muttered. Carefully he laid back, gently placing his left hand on his stomach. “So you’re going to take my hand, and lift it up and away, very slowly. Alright? Hopefully it will set back in place and end this ungodly pain.”

Rochelle glanced at the bone jutting from the top of his shoulder, the skin stretched against it. She took in a shuddering breath before gripping his hand and elbow gently. Jack nodded at her, placed the branch between his teeth and shut his eyes. Slowly as she could, she rotated the arm out, Jack bit down hard, his jaw flexing and the muscles in his neck straining. A wail sounded in the back of his throat, low and pained, ending on a high keen.

She had moved the arm as far as it could go but nothing had happened. Not sure what else to do, she replaced the hand back on his stomach, tears pricking her eyes. “Jack, I’m sorry. I don’t know – why didn’t it work?”

It took him a while to gather himself enough to reply, when he spat out the stick and spoke, his voice was shaky and strained. “Need to yank it.”

Jack took several gulps of air. “Cushion my underarm with reeds or whatever you can find, you’ll place your foot there, then yank my arm.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “I won’t be strong enough.”

“Yes, you will, it’s not as bad as it sounds… for you.” He looked at her, eyes clouded with pain. “Please? You have to try.”

Chewing on her lip, she glanced around. She quickly scrambled together leaves and dried husks from the palm trees, and carefully placed them under his arm. She braced her foot there, and gripped his hand and elbow again.

“Just pull, slow like before.” He placed the branch between his teeth again, and nodded when he was ready.

Rochelle took a deep breath and pulled. There came a point when she didn’t have the strength to yank the arm down any further, and it still hadn't set. Jack was whimpering, tears pricking his eyes as she let go.

Despite herself, Rochelle was crying now at his pain and the fact she couldn’t seem to fix it. “Jack, I’m so sorry.” She let go of his arm and knelt down by his head, running her hand down the side of his face.

“I need you to try again.”

“But it hurts you--”

“It’s worse to have it dislocated. Just,” he looked up at her, his breathing irregular and shallow.

She knew she had no choice, but she still hated it. Again she braced her foot under his arm and gripped his hand and elbow. She took in one deep breath, instead of slowly pulling, she yanked it as hard she could.

There was a resounding _pop_ as his shoulder slipped back into place, and he let out a pained groan. She let go of his hand and he rolled onto his right side, gulping in air.

After several moments, his breathing calmed and he spit out the branch. Rolling onto his back he looked at her and smiled. “Knew you could do it.”

“What now?”

“Need to put it in a sling so it can start healing. I won’t be any use for a few days.” He looked at her sadly.

“We’ll figure it out as we go.” Rochelle wasn’t sure what they could use for a sling, and she looked around again. She finally settled on the skirt of her chemise. Without really thinking, she started ripping it, ending at her upper thighs. She held it up, and gauged it would be more than enough for a sling.

She helped Jack to sit up, his left arm cradled close to his stomach, and with his instructions, wrapped the cloth around his body to help keep the arm in place.

“Knew you could do it,” he said again, grinning. Rochelle gave a watery laugh and gently hugged him around the neck.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

He patted her back with his hand, cheek pressed against hers. “We’ll both be alright, I promise.”

 

***

 

Thorough exploration of the island was put off for the day, they only ventured far enough into the jungle to luckily locate a vine of passion fruit, and for Jack to direct Rochelle how to find the tuberous yuca.

After they had gathered enough to eat, Rochelle was put to work gathering wood for a fire, and pulling the raft up the beach enough so that it wouldn’t drift away. The latter had been difficult, but she managed and felt rather proud that she was physically strong enough.

When the sun was setting, she set about starting a fire which took little time, the dried brush and twigs catching light immediately. And she grinned at Jack. “Easy!”

“You’re officially the fire starter for the rest of our time here. Unless that was beginners luck?” He carefully settled himself back against a palm tree.

“How long will it take you to heal?”

“Not sure, never dislocated it before. The physician on board usually kept the men in a sling for a week or so.” He gently prodded the shoulder, wincing at a particularly sore spot. “We’ll see though. But we can’t worry about that at the moment. Just one day at a time, and tomorrow we’ll explore – see what we can find.”

Rochelle nodded, trying not to worry. He was right, one day at a time. It was all they could do.

As they settled down the night, they stretched out close to the fire, her feet pointed west, his pointed east, and their heads close together while Jack used his right hand to point constellations. Telling her bits of mythology connected to each one, and she found herself lulled by the sound of his voice – quiet, and steady... soothing.

Sometime in the night she was vaguely aware, in that half sleeping way, of getting cold and blinding throwing another log onto the fire to keep it going. Still it was chilly, another cool breeze coming in off the water, and she dazedly sought out whatever warmth she could find.

All these things she could dimly remember when dawn broke, the world bathed in soft orange and yellow light, still she was rather shocked to find herself pressed against Jack.

It seemed much different from the time before. They were facing one another, Jack on his side, his left elbow had come out of the sling and rested on his side, his hand reaching forward to firmly grip her waist. Her body was flush against his, foot to chest, their legs intertwined and their faces only inches apart.

His breathing was deep and even, and she found herself thankful he was still asleep. She blinked several times to get the sleep out of her eyes, trying to figure out how she was going to untangle herself without waking him.

She found herself studying his features while she thought, and soon her thoughts were focused more on him rather than freeing herself. He seemed boyish in his sleep, his sunny blond curls shadowing his eyes, his lips pouting slightly. She noticed for the first time how long his lashes were, their light color making them hard to see, but in the early morning light they seemed darker, fanning out against his high cheekbones.

Rochelle’s eyes traced his jaw and chin, strong and slightly square, covered with sandy colored stubble. Her gaze traveled over his face again, and her breath hitched when she found herself looking into blue eyes – the color clear and bright like the sea surrounding their island.

Jack blinked at her sleepily and didn’t really seem to register their position, instead he closed his eyes again and dipped his face a little closer to hers; his hand sliding from her waist to her back and squeezing just a bit.

He took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly through his nose, tickling her cheek. Rochelle licked her lips, eyes seeming to drift toward his against her will. Something about the moment, the light, about his warmth… just him in general had her moving forward to close those last few millimeters between them.

Her movement woke him a bit more and his eyes blinked open again, more aware. A grin spread across his face, and she froze in place.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep, the sound vibrating in his chest – and hers, pressed so close. Like a lightning strike she realized their position, how close they were... how close she had been to _kissing_ him.

Carefully she unwound her legs from his, and scooted away before sitting up. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I was half asleep, I didn’t realize I’d gotten so close.”

“Perfectly alright.” He grinned wider still, pushing himself upright. She couldn’t help but note the way the muscles of his right arm bunched with the movement, how strong he was. She stamped out the rampant thoughts, it was just silly.

“I’ll, um….” she trailed off as she stood up, refusing to meet his gaze. She scurried into the jungle, never finishing her sentence.

Rochelle stumbled through the thick foliage, tripping over vines and exposed tree roots, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Eventually she slowed, taking in several deep breaths, and paused when she heard what sounded distinctly like running water. Curious, she kept moving forward, brushing back large leaves.

Finally she broke through, coming out into a small clearing. Smack in the middle was a large pool of water. Opposite from where she stood was a rock face, water cascading down to the fill the pool.

Bending forward, Rochelle dipped her hand into the clear, cool water and brought it up to her lips. She tasted it carefully, it wasn’t salty. Fresh water. Lots of fresh water.

“Jack!” She called excitedly before dunking her cupped hands into the water and taking a long drink. Then she called him again, louder than before. She was a ways from their encampment, but she knew he’d be able to hear.

“JACK, COME HERE!” she tried again.

In a moment she heard crashing through the jungle, Jack appearing almost instantly, panting and knife in hand. His eyes darted around before landing on her, and only then did Rochelle realize that he’d been worried. Very much so.

“God's teeth, Rochelle! I thought something was…. wrong,” he ended on a whoosh as he finally noted the spring and waterfall behind her.

“I’m sorry, I was excited.”

He turned to look at her and shrugged, but winced at the motion. “It’s fine, I understand. It’s only that we don’t know what’s here yet. Best to be careful.”

“I will be from now on, I swear it.”

“Good.” He nodded, his stance relaxing. “Now, let’s see if we can’t enjoy this fresh water, hm?”

Jack dropped the knife and his belt to the ground, and gently slipped the sling over his head, keeping his injured arm close to his chest. Rochelle wondered if he might disrobe further, but instead he looked up at her with a grin.

“Assuming you can keep your lips to yourself.” He laughed at her and jumped in.

 

***

 

The water was delightful, and both had been extremely happy to wash sand and dried salt water from their hair and clothes and skin. After they had swam and enjoyed themselves – Jack especially so as the water offered much relief on his pained shoulder – they had crawled onto the bank and laid in the leaves and reeds while their clothes dried.

“We’ll need to find food next.” He spoke casually, his arm propped behinds his head, body languid, but the corners of his eyes were pinched as he gazed up at the canopy of the jungle.

“What about those things from yesterday? The coconuts?”

“They’re difficult, you have to break the outer hull which is very tough.” He swiveled his head toward her, eyes glancing at his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked. “And I’m not exactly at my best.”

Rochelle sat up quickly, annoyed. “What about me?” she huffed. “I’m not useless, Jack.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sat up slowly and gave her a long look. “They’re best to get water if you haven’t any fresh, which we do. The inside, the fleshy part, isn’t worth the trouble.”

Jack reached for the knife by his feet, his fingers brushing the blade. Carefully he flipped it over in his hand, holding the hilt firmly. He winked as he stood, replacing the blade in his belt, and nodded for her to follow him.

The path back to the beach was wide and easy to find now, after her carelessness and Jack thundering after. As they walked slowly back to their camp, Jack kept looking around them, teeth chewing his lower lip while he thought.

“I think it’s time you learned how to fish,” he explained after a few moments. “We can make a spear for now. Ah ha!” He grinned when he found a young sapling near their path. “Hold it, will you?”

Rochelle grabbed the tree, holding it steady while Jack hacked at the base with his knife. After a few sure strikes with the blade the tree snapped, and Rochelle held it in her hands, confused as to what to do with it. Jack gently instructed her to hold it still while he cleaned away the thin branches and leaves. He finally nodded as if you say ‘that will do,’ and turned on his heel, leaving Rochelle without a word.

Sighing loudly she followed him to the beach, and found Jack hunkered down on the ground near the ashes of the fire. He indicated for her to take a seat next to him and she plopped down tiredly, her leg brushing his.

“You’re going to strip it clean, and make a point,” he told her. Rochelle lifted a questioning eyebrow at him, but listened intently to his instructions. It was all rather simple, she found, the sapling was supple and easy to shape with the blade.

Once the point was made, Jack stood, offering Rochelle a hand up. He led her down the beach, toward the cliffside. Once they were closer, she found there were several pools created from rocky rings. They started as small pockets of water close to the cliff face, and spread out into larger ones.

Jack walked along the exposed rocks before stopping several yards from her. “Come along,” he waved her over. Rochelle followed carefully, stopping by his side. The pool before them was large, almost like a pond, and the far side dipped into the ocean even though the tide was out.

The water was clear and she could see barnacles and starfish lining the sides, and brightly colored sea anemone swaying with the current. She watched in fascination as all the things she had read about before journeying to the West Indies came to life before her.

“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, crouching down near a particularly beautiful red-orange one.

“They are.” Jack knelt down next to her, his eyes focused on the pool rather than the anemone. “This one should be safe enough, I don’t think anything too big can swim in this time of day.”

“Anything too big?” Rochelle looked up at Jack, wide eyed.

“Sharks, girl.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not in the least.” He grinned widely and hopped into the pool. The water only came up to his hips, but as he waded in farther, it reached his chest.

When he realized Rochelle hadn’t immediately followed, Jack turned around and tilted his head to one side. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

Rochelle glowered at him and scooted into the water, it was surprisingly warm, and crept forward, eyes darting around for anything that might not be friendly.

“No, no. Stay in the shallower part.” He waved her back, and she retreated. “Let’s see if I can’t scare something up.”

“And I’ll do what exactly?”

Jack blinked at her. “Use the spear of course.”

“Are you serious?” Rochelle gripped the spear a little tighter in both hands, feeling awkward.

“I’ll get them closer to you, you just have patience and wait for the right moment. Then toss it with all your might.”

“At the fish?”

“At the fish,” he nodded. “You could do the wrangling while I do the spearing?”

Rochelle knew full well that he was teasing her, goading. She was half tempted to throw the spear at _him_ , but instead stamped down her annoyance and stood up straight, chin held high.

“I will do it.”

“Good.” He grinned again and waded in a bit deeper. Nothing happened for a moment, then there were two small fish swimming toward her, then several more. A larger one, different from the others, seemed an easy enough mark for her; swimming an almost perfect figure eight in the middle of the pool.

She took a steadying breath, holding the spear tightly. Her eyes followed the fish, watching the pattern. When it circled back toward her she let the spear fly, chucking it as hard as she could. It flew through the air and water, piercing the fish with a fluid movement. Jack immediately sloshed forward, grabbing the spear and lifting it out of the water.

He slashed toward Rochelle, tossing fish and spear onto the rocks behind her, and slung his good arm around her shoulders. “Good job.” He gave a little a squeeze and let go, yanking himself onto the rocks, and offered her a hand.

As Rochelle emerged from the water, she glanced down at the speared fish, feeling extremely proud of herself. She smiled at Jack, who grinned in return.

“Now you can learn how to clean it.”

Her smile faltered.

 

***

 

Jack resolutely refused to help Rochelle clean the fish, leaving her with the disgusting task, his quiet instructions her only guide. With a wrinkled nose, she carefully went about cutting the Grouper, as Jack called it, and gutting it. She felt a bit sick as the knife met the vertebrae, catching just a bit, and Jack told her press down harder, snapping it.

Once the arduous task was complete, Rochelle started a fresh fire – just as easily as before – and they roasted the fish. While it cooked, Jack left to fetch water, and a few passion fruit.

Everything tasted delicious, in Rochelle's opinion. The growing sense of accomplishment, and satisfaction, sweetening even the water in her mind. In all her life she had never felt so useful.

After they finished, still half of the fish left, Jack laid back, his right arm flung over his eyes. Rochelle left him alone while she wrapped the remains their meal in a palm leaf and put out the fire. When she was finished, she settled down next to Jack, near his head.

“There's so much to do,” he moaned. “We need to explore, gather food, and build some kind of shelter.” He lifted his arm away and looked up at her. “I just want to sleep though.”

“Then sleep. I can start gathering things and looking arou–“

“No.” He sat up and Rochelle finally noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way his good shoulder sagged just as much as the injured one. “That's too dangerous. Besides we can't be idle, we need to figure out where to place a signal, not to mention what that signal will be, and shelter. Shelter is important.” Jack scrubbed at his face, yawning so wide she thought his jaw might crack. She reached out, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

“You deserve a rest, you've barely sat still since we washed up on shore, being in pain can exhaust you, and heaven knows you worked hard aboard ship.”

“Captain Smithson would disagree.”

“He would be wrong then, wouldn't he?”

“Spend a lot of time watchin' me work, young miss?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, giving her a mischievous grin that caused one cheek to dimple slightly.

“You should be so lucky.” She kicked at him playfully and stuck out her tongue, going against every bit of etiquette she'd learned in finishing school. She found she didn't care.

He laughed, light and carefree as usual, but it did nothing to assuage to sheer exhaustion clouding his features. Rochelle leaned forward and gently pushed on his chest.

“Take a nap. I'll go explore the beach to see if anything washed up from the wreck. I promise I won't go too far. I'll come wake you in a while, then we’ll see if we can get up that cliff to see the island; like we did on the other.”

“That seems fair.” Jack straightened out, mindful of his left arm, and wiggled a bit to find a comfortable spot, and shut his eyes.“If anything happens just scream bloody murder, alright?”

“Alright.” She nodded with a smile. She rose to her knees, stopping before she stood, looking down at him. He did look so tired, the circles under his eyes looking almost like bruises, but he was still very handsome. Not that she would tell him that.

Against her better judgment, she reached out and brushed back his hair again. “Sleep well,” she whispered.

“Are you going to kiss me now? It should give me sweet dreams.” He smirked, eyes still closed. Rochelle scrunched up her face, huffing out a breath, and smacked him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” he cried. “Injured shoulder!”

“You deserved it.” She got to her feet and stomped down to the water, his choked laughter echoing behind her.

Rochelle walked along the beach, keeping an eye out for wreckage. As she walked, she discovered a few planks and pieces of driftwood, she hauled them all out of the water, far enough that they wouldn't be washed away again. They could turn out useful.

After she had been walking for some time, she realized she had made it around the bend in the beach, the camp and Jack no longer in sight. The beach here looked exactly like the rest, mostly smooth sand peppered with wood, shells and a few rocks. However, one thing caught her attention and she dashed forward.

The trunk was heavy, waterlogged and large, but she managed to drag it up a few feet from the waterline. The initials on the front showed it belonged to the captain, and she grabbed a rock to break open the lock.

Inside she found dress clothes and coats, belts and some shoes. She dug around and located a pistol that went with his dress uniform, she carefully lifted it from the trunk, water running down her arm.

“Fat lot of good that does us,” she mumbled to herself. Of course they didn't even have gunpowder. She found a bag full of lead bullets, clicking together like marbles as she pushed it aside.

Overall, she thought everything could be used in someway. The shirts could be bandages if needed, the pants and stockings could be torn and used for ties when they built shelter, the coats as protection from the sun.

Speaking of which, the sun was getting high in the sky and extremely hot. She replaced everything and shut the trunk, she’d need Jack's help to get it back to camp. As she stood, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, something caught her attention in the foliage lining the beach above her.

She squinted, leaning forward a bit and shielding her eyes. What greeted her were a pair of eyes peeking out between two large, pronged leaves. Her own eyes went wide and a scream built in the back of the throat, escaping in a loud wail. She turned and fled back the way she'd came.

As Rochelle rounded the bend in the beach, she glanced behind but nothing was there. Before she turned back to see where she was going, she crashed into Jack. She staggered, but looped her arms around his neck, clinging tight.

Both of his arms went around her, pulling her close; his breath hitched in obvious pain, but he didn't loosen his grip on her.

“What happened?” he asked, and she knew without looking at his face that his sharp eyes were scanning the expanse of beach behind her.

“In the jungle... I saw eyes.” She suddenly felt childish. It had been animal... likely nothing too dangerous as she managed to scare it off by making a loud noise. Still, she was shaken. She had been scared, and she realized in that moment that she had been since she first tumbled overboard. She also realized that Jack had been doing everything within his power to alleviate that fear.

She pulled back and shook her head. “I'm sorry.. it was foolish.”

“No, we don't know what's here, and there are probably animals it's best to avoid.” He sighed, eyes still focused on the beach behind her. Finally he looked down at her and smiled softly. “I'm glad you're alright.”

“Jack? Are you worried?” She licked her lips and plowed forward, not giving him time to respond. “Ever since we landed on shore you've been so... brusque about everything, like it doesn't bother you.”

He laughed and went about gingerly placing his arm back in its sling before speaking. “I'd be a bit witless if I wasn't worried, now wouldn't I? And this,” he gestured to his shoulder. “Really set me on edge, we're so ill-equipped. If something serious happened, what would we do? I don't....”

Jack looked at the water, the gentle waves lapping the shore. He sighed. “I didn't want you to worry more than necessary.”

“Trying to protect me, hm?”

He looked at her askance, lips twitching a bit. “I suppose, not that you really need it.”

“I appreciate it.” She hesitated, just a moment, and then reached up, forcing Jack to look at her. “We'll both be alright. We'll make it together.”

“Together,” he agreed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, placing his right hand on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while, eyes closed and breathing each other's air. Finally Rochelle opened her eyes to meet brilliant blue ones.

Something about the way he was looking at her now, the way his eyes seemed darker, more vivid, made her heart race. She wondered if he might kiss her.

Instead he took in a deep breath and stepped back, giving her shoulder a squeeze before dropping his hand. “Seeing as I'm awake now, let's go see what we find on that cliff.”

Rochelle started to nod, feeling a bit dazed, then stopped. “No, there's a trunk. It was the captain's.”

“That's an interesting find.” He turned around, heading in the direction she'd come from.

“And driftwood and planks, I pulled them up on the shore so they wouldn't wash away.”

Jack stopped and looked at her, smiling. “Good job,” he said, giving her a once over before starting to walk again. She felt her face flush at the compliment and his gaze. Willing her warm face to cool, she started after him.

 

***

 

Jack poked around the edge of the jungle, nothing was there. After that they set about the task of getting the trunk back to camp, and with Jack to do most of the work, it wasn't nearly as terrible as she thought it might be.

Once that was done, they finished the last of the water Jack had managed to gather earlier, and set about exploring the cliff; it rose steadily, making it a rather easy climb. It was much less craggy and rocky than the one on the other island, covered in grass and vines and blooming flowers. At the top it evened out, jutting over the ocean.

They could see the island they were on was roughly three times the size as the previous one, covered in thick jungle, but the middle seemed bare, and they surmised that was where the fresh water originated. The cliff gave them a perfect view of the horizon in every direction, and Jack seemed pleased.

“I think,” he said slowly, scratching his chin, “we should build a pyre up here with all the driftwood. We'll come up here a couple times a day, check the horizon, and keep the fire going. We have plenty of fuel for it, and it will be easy for them to spot.”

“What if they miss it?” Rochelle worried her lower lip, eyes darting toward the sea as if hoping to see white sails on the horizon.

“They'll be coming from that direction.” He pointed to the left of the cliff. “We're in a pocket of islands, they'll search any bit of land they can find. They'll come in close.”

She couldn't help but think that he was only trying to stay positive for her, like he'd said before... but she shook herself and knew she could trust him. Besides, it was the best course of action as far as she could tell.

“We washed ashore what? Six days ago? Had we kept on course we would be arriving in Charlestown tomorrow, perhaps today.” He gave a bitter laugh and covered his eyes. “A day or two to realize we're not coming, and then who knows how long before they reach this area.”

Dropping his hand he looked at her and shrugged. “At least we'll have plenty of time to build a pyre.”

“We're going to be alright, remember? We're in this together.” Rochelle slipped her hand into Jack's, giving it a squeeze.

“Right.” He swallowed thickly, staring at her. He shook himself and started leading her back to camp.

Again more thorough exploration was put off, instead going through the trunk more carefully. Jack found the idea of having a pistol fascinating.

“But we haven't any gunpowder, how will it work?” Rochelle sat back on her haunches, a coat draped over her legs, she intended for them to use them as bedrolls that night.

“I'll figure that out later, as it is we're the only ones who know that. If anyone unexpected should show up, we can bluff a bit.”

“Are you truly worried about that?”

“I don't know, it's just a nice thing to have on hand, I think. At this point I'm not ruling anything out.” He sat the pistol aside and continued digging, finally he started laughing. “Oh, Captain Smithson I may very well kiss you the next time I see you.”

Jack pulled out an embellished spyglass, holding it up to his eye. “This is beautiful.” He grinned.

“That will be helpful,” Rochelle said, smiling at his joy.

“Aye, that it will.” He looked at her and winked. “Things are looking up!”

They spent the rest of the afternoon constructing another lean-to, using most of their raft, some of the planks Rochelle had pulled onto the beach, and some of the captain's clothes and large palm leaves for the base.

In the morning they would start on the signal pyre and explore the rest of the island. They dined on the leftover Grouper, more yuca, and a few passion fruit for 'dessert' – Rochelle knew she shouldn't complain, but the passion fruit were starting to lose their appeal after being a main staple for so many days.

Jack, even more exhausted, settled down in the sand by the fire, eyes unfocused and shoulders slumped. Rochelle took a seat next to him, one of the captain's jacket's splayed across her lap like a blanket.

Neither of them were aware of when or how, Jack ended up with his head in Rochelle's lap, eyes closed, her fingers carding through his hair. They spoke some, mostly about favorite foods and what they would eat once they got off the island, but eventually Jack's voice grew quieter, his words clouded with sleep.

Soon he was fast asleep, and still Rochelle kept brushing her fingers through his hair. She studied his face, much like she had just that morning – it seemed more like a month ago, her time aboard ship a lifetime – but with a clearer mind.

Her hand drifted down from his hair, over his face, the stubble on his jaw tickling her palm. She realized that she rather liked Jack a lot; she could lie, and claim it was merely because of their situation, heightened feelings and desperation in a frightening situation, but that wasn't true. She had liked him far longer than that. Those meetings on ship, full of casual conversations and teasing.

He treated her like no one else had in her entire life; he treated her like a capable person, not just a simpering young miss with no mind of her own. He challenged her, respected her. She respected him, too. Rochelle had known she'd been lucky to have him with her through this ordeal, his skills and familiarity comforting, but she was also thankful. 

He looked so handsome in his sleep, the worried crease gone from between his brow, his lips quirked upward rather than drawn into a frown. As if she had no real control over the action, Rochelle found herself bending forward slowly until her lips were hovering over Jack's, his deep, even breaths tickling her cheek. She wet her lips, pressing them together for a heartbeat before she closed the gap and laid her lips against his.

It was all she had intended to do, just a simple kiss... a quiet thank you for all he had done for her, and to appease her growing affection toward him. That was not what happened though. Either Jack hadn't been as deeply asleep as she had thought, or her gradual movements had woken him, either way he returned the kiss immediately. 

His lips were firm but soft under hers, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, much to her surprise and delight. His stubble rasped against her chin, sending a shiver down her spine. She rested one hand on his chest, feeling his heart under her palm, quick and erratic. Jack craned his neck, his hand coming to her hair, long fingers buried in the thick locks, his thumb brushing her cheek.

It seemed much too much for Rochelle and she hastily broke off the kiss, turning her face slightly, pressing her swollen lips together. Jack's breath, coming in puffs, was warm against her cheek, his hand still in her hair.

They stayed like that for a moment, both catching their breath, calming their racing pulses. Finally Jack dropped his hand, and started to sit up, forcing Rochelle to straighten as well. She kept her eyes downcast, not meeting his face.

Sighing, Jack cupped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Knew you couldn't keep those lips to yourself,” he said with a teasing smile.

Feeling mortified at her actions, Rochelle clambered to her feet, wanting – needing – to get away. Before she could take a step Jack's warm, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her back down to the sand. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, instead focusing on the fire.

“Hey, hey,” he smoothed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have teased you.”

“No, I'm sorry. I should never have–“

“You have nothing to apologize for, I can assure you of that.” He leaned to one side, trying to catch her eye. “Never had a nicer kiss in all my life, and that's the truth.”

“Kissed a lot of girls have you?”

“A few. Some women find pirates dashing.” He grinned. She snorted. Though it did help defuse some of the tension.

Rochelle sighed, chest rising and then dropping as she let it out, shoulders sagging. “It still wasn't proper, this isn't a time for that... things are confused and it's difficult to gauge real emotions. This isn't the right time.”

“You're the Commodore’s daughter and a lady of good standing, I'm an ex-pirate and criminal, there is no 'right' or 'proper' time for us. That's why I'll take whatever I can get.”

“You don't mean that,” she mumbled.

“You can believe what you like, but the truth of the matter is that I only share orange rations with people I enjoy, and I surely wouldn't dive into a raging sea to save someone I didn't care for.” His voice was soft and honest, and Rochelle felt her heart flutter.

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Let's sleep.” Jack stood and stoked the fire, then offered her his hand. She slipped her hand into his. Silently they crawled into the structure and settled down, thankful for the comfort of clothes to pad everything, and as a replacement for blankets.

“Jack?” Rochelle whispered after several moments.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for everything.”

“We'll be alright, Rochelle.” He paused. “Just remember, we're in this together, yeah? You help me as much as I help you.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next several days were spent lugging wood up the cliff for the signal fire. Rochelle did as much as she could, feeling proud to be able to accomplish as much as she did. Jack took the woven rope from their raft, using it to latch various pieces of driftwood together, and drug then up the hill without using his shoulder.

On the fourth day since they'd landed on their new island, they had their pyre completed, and the island better mapped. They hadn't found anything else from the shipwreck, but had located a banana tree, and several tuberous plants to add to their meals, and Rochelle had become quite proficient at fishing.

Jack's shoulder was getting better, he still had to be careful with his movements, but he had given up the sling. All in all things were well in hand, it was just a matter of waiting. The seeming ease of everything, and lack of communication over the kiss, made them both a little uneasy, as if they were waiting for the next disaster.

Frustrated and confused, Rochelle retreated to the pool to clean up. She washed her chemise as best she could, then left it to dry on a large rock in the sun, using the time to work the knots out of her hair and paddle around in the cool water.

Sighing, she dunked her head under the water, swimming toward the center of the pool. When she surfaced again she lie back, floating gently, her hair flowing around her in the water, eyes on the forest canopy.

The whir of the water in her ears made everything seem far away, the bird calls, the faint sounds of the forest. It was relaxing, and she felt at peace for the first time since she'd washed up on shore. Actually, since before she'd left London.

As it was she was hardly aware of the telltale sounds of approaching feet, or of a hand brushing back leaves and branches. She was aware though when Jack's voice rose, letting out a surprised curse.

“Oh Jesus God! I'm sorry!” he cried, and Rochelle lifted her head. She scrambled to gather her hair, using it as a floating shield while she sank low enough for the water to brush her chin.

“Go away Jack!” she screeched. He had turned his back, one hand covering his eyes for good measure.

“I didn't know, you were gone for so long and I was calling your name.”

“Well, what did you think I was doing? I told you I wanted a bath!” Her hair was drifting away from her body, and she panicked, scooping it back frantically while keeping herself submerged.

“You shouldn't have taken so long!” There was an edge of worry to his voice, and she might have felt bad, had she not been so mortified. Exactly how much had he seen?

She only dimly became aware that he was talking some more, sounding a bit more agitated. “... the food will spoil if you don't eat it, and I'm not saving it for you. Besides _someone_ needs to go up to the cliff and check on everything.”

“Then go!” she hollered at him. “I'll get my own meal. Just get out of here so I can get dressed!”

“Fine!” He dropped his hand and marched out of the clearing, thankfully not giving her another glance. Embarrassed and annoyed, Rochelle climbed out of the pool and laid on the grass, finding a bit of sunlight to help her dry before yanking on her chemise.

It was a short time later when she emerged on the beach to find the fire banked, and a few already cooked yuka left on a palm leaf.

She ate them quietly, still annoyed and not overly hungry. When she was finished, she sat a bit closer to the glowing embers of the fire, back turned, and started finger combing her hair so it would dry quicker.

When it was close to being dry, the raven locks falling to her waist in waves, Jack returned. He stopped outside the ring of the camp and stared. Rochelle could feel his eyes on her, and just as she looked up at him, he glanced away and sat down on the other side of the fire.

“Didn't see any ships,” he said, tossing the spyglass into the open trunk. “But I did some thinking while I was up there, worked out a schedule.”

He finally looked up and met her eyes. “To avoid anymore, uh, accidents.”

“That seems fair.” She turned around to face the coals, flinging her hair over her shoulder in an arc.

“I figure in the mornings you have the pond for an hour, and I'll use it in the evenings. We'll carry on like we have been for everything else, still scouting the island for food, fishing, and checking for ships.”

“That works for me.”

And it did, both of them were fine with the schedule, but without the need for constant work the days grew tedious and annoying and started to take its toll on them; arguing and bickering more than ever.

It was three days after they had decided on a schedule for the pond, and Rochelle was searching for their dinner. They'd managed to collect a few mussels from the deeper rock pools near the cliff, and Jack had caught a snapper before going for his bath. Rochelle was searching for yuka when she tripped over a tree root hidden under fallen leaves, and fell through the brush. Scrambling to her feet, shoving back her hair and grimacing at the twigs stuck in it, she found herself staring at the trunk of a tree she'd never seen before, the bark different.

She looked up and squealed in delight; above her were branches loaded with small green orbs. Quickly she found a knot in the trunk, and shimmied up the tree. She reached out slowly and plunked a lime from a branch.

Without even waiting to get back on the ground again, she bit into it, tearing the skin with her teeth and spitting it out. The flesh was sour, but pleasantly so and she knew it would be healthy. The last thing either of them needed was to get scurvy.

She ate the lime quickly, discarding the peel. Rochelle made a basket with her chemise and picked several more of the fruit. When she was satisfied with her haul, she carefully made her way back to camp, marking the way as she went.

Disposing of the limes into the trunk to keep them safe, she went to the pond to tell Jack the good news. Before she broke through the clearing she called out, alerting him to her presence.

“Give me a moment!” he called back.

Rochelle crept forward, eyes downcast. She stopped near a large palm leaf that blocked the pond from the path they'd made. She could her splashing on the other side.

Feeling bold, and more than a little curious, she leaned to one side and carefully inched the leaf back a fraction, peering through a gap. Jack had just climbed out of the water, his back turned toward her.

Water ran down from his sodden hair, running over his toned back and down the swell of his equally toned backside. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. Leaning just slightly, he reached up to tousle his hair, sending more droplets flying.

When he was satisfied with his hair being dry enough, he reached over head, stretching. Her eyes traced the way his muscles bunched, his shoulder blades drawing together as he slowly lowered his arms, muscular and strong.

Rochelle knew she should turn away, but a part of her thought it was only fair after he had undoubtedly seen a good bit of her. She bit her lip and continued to watch him. However, he was starting to turn now, to retrieve his clothes from behind him.

She gasped and straightened up, letting go of the leaf just before he twisted around completely. She cursed herself for making a noise, and for the sudden movement; she could only pray that he hadn't noticed anything while she waited for him to dress.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Jack's shadow fell over her as he brushed back the palm. He smiled at her, light and genuine as always. “Now, what is this fuss about? What did you see?”

“I just...” she stared up at him, hoping her face wasn't turning red as her gaze fell to his chest, slightly exposed, and suddenly thought of how well developed he was, and how his smooth his bronzed skin looked. She swallowed and looked up at his smiling face. “I found a lime tree!” she declared. 

 

***

 

Two excruciating days passed. Rochelle could barely look at Jack without having the strong urge to kiss him, and sleeping next to him made her overly warm and on edge. He hadn't brought up the kiss, his accidental glimpse of her, or her intentional glimpse of him – she would bet money that he knew.

Of course she didn't bring it up either.

She wondered how much of his past flirting had been teasing. She found she didn't like the thought that any of it had been insincere, and that set her edge even more.

They were combing the beach again, after a particularly high tide in hopes of finding more wreckage. The day was cooler than it had been, the sky overcast. Rochelle was mostly lost to her thoughts, her eyes unfocused as she walked, and she only came to herself when she heard Jack laughing.

Looking up, she found him rolling a barrel up the beach, his pants wet from fetching it out of the ocean. He stopped near her, scooping out a small trench with his foot so it wouldn't roll away.

“Would've done well to have this when you set my shoulder.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Is that rum?”

“Sure is. Has the cook's mark right there.” He nodded to the top of the barrel.

“Oh, my.” She stared at it for a moment. “Oh! We can use it for the pyre, it would make good fuel, wouldn't it? Make it burn brighter, easier to see if a ship passed.”

Jack sucked his teeth, looking at the horizon; a storm was brewing. He turned back toward her, lips a thin line. “I don't think we should. It has other uses.”

“Jack!” she gasped. “You can't mean to drink it?”

“No, princess. I mean that if anything happens, a wound or something, it can help fight infections.”

“But we're safe, we've been safe. I think it would be better to use it to hopefully get off this island, rather than worrying if we're here for ages.”

“We haven't been 'safe', we've been lucky!” Jack sigh loudly, shoulders tense. “Something could happen, we can't predict anything. Look at my shoulder, what if I had broken my arm?”

“We have fresh, clean water, surely that helps? The fire should be our first priority.”

“No, Rochelle!” He slapped the barrel for emphasis.

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms tightly. “Just because you've grown up on the sea, doesn't mean you get the final say. My opinions are just as valid as yours, I am not stupid!”

“I'm not saying you're stupid!” They were now close together, voices raised, and she wasn't sure how that had happened.

“Well, it certainly feels that way!”

“All I'm saying is that having alcohol on hand could be the difference between saving a limb and losing one. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?” He sneered, completely riled. “You haven't had to fight a man on the table while the physician went to get the bone saw. You think setting my shoulder was ugly and painful? I can tell you holding a man down while he loses an arm is a hundred times worse, and that's not about to happen to you!”

He face was inches from hers, eyes hot and breath ragged. Rochelle opened her mouth to reply, but a crash of thunder drowned out her words. They both jumped, and the sky opened up, dumping a deluge upon them.

The wind came next, so strong, it picked up Rochelle's sodden hair and slapped it against her face. Jack motioned for her to get back to camp while he dealt with the rum barrel.

Rochelle obeyed him, racing back to the sanctuary of the trees and their lean-to. Even with the quick dash, she was still soaked to the bone. Shivering, their banked fire long since drowned, she watched as Jack rolled the barrel into the camp, stopping it by the trunk for protection. In a moment he was huddled next to her, just as soaked.

They hunkered down together behind the lean-to, using it as a shield against the chill wind coming off the water. It had been early afternoon when the rain started, but with the storm the world plunged into twilight, broken only by claps of sheet lightning.

As the time passed, the storm never lessening, Rochelle tried several times to engage Jack, but he only shrugged her off, stoically refusing to look at her. Giving up, Rochelle shivered violently when a droplet of water rolled down her back, her entire body shaking with it.

Jack seemed to take notice of that and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush against his side. She found herself burrowing a bit closer, thankful for his warmth, but painfully aware of the way his shirt was plastered to his body, the wiry strength coiled in his arm.

“Are you still mad?” she asked after another moment of silence. “I'm sorry I'm turned it into a fight. But you made me feel like a child, and I didn't care for it. I've spent so much of my life having my thoughts and concerns brushed aside, you'd never done that before.”

“I'm not mad,” he said softly, the words almost lost next to the howl of the wind. “I never meant to treat you like a child, because you are not a child. I am more than aware of that, believe me.”

She shifted just enough to look at his face, stony and serious, eyes focused on the waves crashing below them. “If you're not angry, then why won't you look at me?” 

“Like you said, this isn't the right time; doubtful it ever will be, seeing as I'm no gentleman and you're a lady.” He stopped and swallowed, jaw clenching. “But you're enough to test anyone's patience, that's why I think it best I don't look at you when your chemise is soaked through and I can see every curve like that day at the pond.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“Any of it... all of it.”

Jack heaved a sigh and finally looked at her, resolutely meeting her eyes. “You know you're beautiful.” He paused, licked his lips. “But it's more than that... so much more.”

She could scarcely breathe, couldn't look away.

“I teased you because that's my way, and I didn't think it meant anything... at least to you. Now I'm not so sure, but the fact of the matter is that you're a lady and I'm a criminal, and nothing will ever change that.”

“But you're a good man.”

He snorted, bitter. “How do you figure that?”

“Because in my experience having titles and land and money does nothing more than make you an insufferable prig, but you are a good person. Your actions speak louder than any title ever could.”

“Then I'll continue to keep my actions to myself.” He let her go and looked away, knees bent slightly, elbows resting on top.

“Jack–” Rochelle cut herself off, biting her lip. Not exactly certain what she was doing, only going by a faint voice in the back of her mind, Rochelle turned and knocked Jack's arm aside, throwing one leg over his lap. She placed his hand on her waist and met his shocked gaze.

“Rochelle, what are you doing?“

“What we both want, but you won't do.”

“You don't mean that... you said yourself things are confused. I didn't say any of that to coerce you... I would never. God, Rochelle, I would never, ever force anything.” He creased his brows in worry.

“I know.” She reached up, placed her hands on either side of his face. “Jack? Do you care about me?”

“Yes, so much it scares me.” His voice was soft, almost reverent, and she watched his eyes dip down to her lips. She smiled.

“I care about you, too.” She leaned in closer, until she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, feel his breath on her chin. “I think I have ever since you turned up with oranges from the stores.”

“I knew I fancied the moment you stepped on ship and glared at me; you're not one to back down, you have too much fire in you.”

“Jack?” They were closer now, lips almost touching as she spoke.

“Aye?”

“Be quiet.”

 

***

 

Dawn the following morning was clear and quiet, the air thick and heavy from the rain. It was barely light when Rochelle opened her eyes, she was splayed across Jack's chest, gently rising and falling with his every breath.

Turning her head, she propped her chin on the back of her hand and watched him while he slept, biting her lip to fight a grin, her stomach fluttering in a giddy sort of way. Her gaze drifted over his face, noting the way his lips curled in a contented smile. His hair, bleached nearly white from his days in the sun, looked more like burnished gold in the early morning light.

He shifted a bit in his sleep, and she shivered when his hand slipped from her shoulder to the small of her back; she realized that they were in nearly the same position they had fallen asleep in. She could no longer hold back her grin.

Rochelle had expected things to be awkward, all of her knowledge coming from the whispered titters of her classmates at finishing school... and that one terrible French novella. But it hadn't been, not even close.

With that thought, she realized that while she liked watching him sleep, enjoying how boyish and peaceful he looked, she wanted him to wake up. As if he had heard her thoughts, Jack drew in a sharp breath through his nose, chest puffing, and let it out slowly, tickling her face.

Jack lifted his left hand and rubbed his eyes; scrubbing his face while he yawned. He blinked a couple of times, staring at the leaves above them, before lifting his head to look at her. He propped his arm behind neck and grinned at her.

Rochelle returned the smile and giggled.

“What are you laughing at?” The hand still spread across her back moved, tickling her side.

“I don't know?” She giggled again.

“As long as you're not laughing at me.” He closed his eyes again, lips twitching.

“I would never.” She paused. “At least not to your face.” Rochelle shimmied up his chest a few inches until her lips were nearly touching his, “it's too handsome of a face to be laughed at.”

He opened one bright blue eye, brow quirked. “Is that so?”

“'Tis.” She grinned before kissing him.

The kiss was slow, languid, and Rochelle braced her hands on either side of Jack's head, fingers sinking in the sand as his ranked up and down her body; the rough calluses raising gooseflesh on her back.

His arms circled her waist as he rocked to one side, using his weight and the momentum to roll them until he was hovering over her. He rested his forearms on the ground by her head and placed his knee between her legs, bracing himself so his weight didn't crush her. As it was she was most definitely trapped.

“Shouldn't we go check on the signal?” she suggested lightly, looking up at him blandly.

“That's not much fun.” He grinned before dipping his head toward her neck. “This is, though,” he muttered, punctuating each word with a kiss along her neck and shoulder.

Rochelle hooked her leg around his hip, and gripped his face, bringing his mouth to hers. “I suppose it can wait for a while.”

“I thought you might see things my way.” He laughed before kissing her again. 

 

***

 

The boredom that had crept in without the need for urgent work, the maddening tedium of the long days, had been broken. Words flowed and their hands explored, learning about each other in the most intimate of ways. They spent evenings curled by the fire, Rochelle singing finishing school songs, and Jack teaching her all the constellations.

It was the third morning since the storm, they were breaking their fast before going about the chores of the day; checking the signal fire, gathering wood for it and their own camp, fishing and searching for food. Between all that would be stolen kisses, playful fights, and love making.

Rochelle banked the fire and knelt behind Jack, arms wrapping around his waist, her chin propped atop his shoulder.

“Do you remember when you wanted to come to this island and I was worried. You said we might find paradise.”

“Aye?” Jack craned his neck, eyeing her.

She pressed a kiss against his bare skin and smiled. “You might have been right.”

He laughed, a little forced, and Rochelle pulled back a bit to look at his face. He only smiled, trying to look bright. “We've found paradise, hm? Even with a lecherous scoundrel like myself?”

The words were said lightly, but the corners of his eyes were pinched. “Are you worried about us?” Rochelle frowned. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” He shook his head and cupped her cheek. “Believe me when I say this, with us, is the best thing to ever happen in my life. However, having already been on the wrong side of the Commodore, I'm not sure he'll take lightly to the fact I've ruined his daughter.”

“What my father doesn't know won't hurt him.”

“That's the other problem, isn't it?” Jack dropped his hand, untangling himself from her and stood. “We leave the island and then I'm back to an ex-pirate and you a lady, the Commodore's daughter.”

“Is that what you think? We leave here and this ends?”

“It will, though, Rochelle. You'll be under your father's eye, and he won't let you have anything to do with me. If he ever found out about everything here... I'd be hanged.”

Rochelle shot to her feet, indignation surging through her. “I won't let that happen. I won't let my father... it won't happen, Jack. It can't happen. I don't want it... I want you.” And she did, in every way that counted. She wanted him, always.

Jack wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and Rochelle tucked her head under his chin. “I want you, too,” he whispered, breath rustling the hairs atop her head. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, but things will be different when we leave here.”

“What if we never leave?” she whispered, hugging him a bit tighter.

He chuckled. “While being with you might be paradise, this island is not. One day we will leave.”

“And when that day comes, I'll tell my father off.”

“I don't doubt it.” He kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “Right, why don’t you go check on the signal, and I'll see I can't find some mussels for supper.”

Rochelle nodded, watched him walk down the beach before turning and heading up the cliff; grabbing the spyglass from where it hung on a branch.

The walk up the cliff was effortless now, the path worn and easy to follow, her legs used to the climb. Coming level with the top, she found the signal fire still burning; she added several pieces of dried wood, stoking the flames until they roared up over head before dying down again.

Moving closer to the edge of the cliff, the fire to her back, she fitted the spyglass to her eye and started searching the seemingly endless horizon. Rochelle slowly trailed over the expanse of water, not wanting to miss anything.

She lowered the spyglass, blinked a couple of times, and continued her search. At first she thought it was a cloud, light and fluffy. She blinked again. This time she realized what it was; the telltale sails of a first rate ship.

Rochelle squealed in delight and dropped the spyglass. She flung the rest of the wood onto the pyre, making it grow higher and higher. Then she raced to the side, looking over the edge until she could make out the pools below, knowing Jack was there.

“Jack!” she shrieked. “A ship!”

Before there could be any reply, or to even check that he wasn't underwater, Rochelle started racing down the cliff. She was laughing and giddily calling Jack's name while she ran. She was close to the bottom of the incline, where it bled into the sandy beach, when her foot caught on a vine stretching across the path.

Her ankle twisted, knee buckling and she went crashing to the ground, crying out in surprise. Rochelle turned to land on a pile of fallen palm leaves and husks, hoping to keep from scraping herself on the rocky cliff side. As she landed, her side taking the brunt of her fall, her head cracked painfully against something hard. Her vision swam, eyes watering from the pain in her ankle and her head. She blinked, tried to sit up, but the world was spinning and her vision darkened around the edges. The last thing Rochelle was aware of before she fainted was Jack calling her name, voice bordering on hysterical, and his warm hands on her forehead and lower back. 

When she came to again she wasn't quite sure where she was. It wasn't where she'd fallen, she wasn't even sure it was their camp. Whatever was underneath her was soft, cushioning her in a pleasant way, yet she also felt as if she were floating, warm and tingly.

Rochelle wanted to open her eyes, but it was too much effort and she was so very tired. But warm, and everything seemed very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed. She took a deep breath, and snuggled a bit deeper into the blankets. Blankets? Yes, she was in a bed. How strange. The floating feeling was still there, but as she lie there she started to become more aware of a rocking sensation, the gentle roll of a ship as it coursed through the waves.

A door opened, rather forcefully and a voice spoke – Captain Smithson! – “I'm sorry sir, I tried to stop him.”

“It's fine, captain,” another voice... this one wasn't familiar, yet she knew it. Her father. There was a pause, shuffling feet and the door closed. Her father spoke again. “Well, Mr...?”

“Jack is fine, sir.”

Now she wanted nothing more than to open her eyes, but she couldn't. She wanted to sleep. Oh, sleep would be heavenly right now... but Jack. Jack was there. She wanted to see Jack.

“Jack. Alright, and what might I do for you?”

“With all due respect, sir, I have been sequestered in the physician's quarters since you brought us on board.”

“Yes, I'm aware. To recover, you've been under a lot of stress... a bit malnourished–“

“I am perfectly well, thank you for your concern.” She knew Jack well enough to note the sarcasm in his words. 

“I have asked after Miss Hawthorne's health without so much as a sideways glance from the physician, or anyone else I've posed the question to. While I understand under normal circumstance this would not be any of my business, I feel that after nearly a month of doing everything within my power to keep her alive that I am somewhat entitled to know what her condition is. Sir.” The word was added with such contempt, such barely suppressed ire, that the fog clouding Rochelle's mind cleared enough for her to wonder if her father might throw him in the brig.

As it was her father snorted, and a chair creaked to her right. “Rochelle is doing well. She has a bump on her head and a broken ankle, but it was a clean break and the doctor believes it will heal on its own. He's given her laudanum for the pain; she's been resting.” 

There was another pause, lulling Rochelle, and she would have given into the oblivion of sleep had her father not spoken, rousing her again.

“You were worried.”

“Yes, sir. No one would tell me anything, and she had hit her head....” Jack's voice grew soft, and she strained to hear it. “I thought the worst.”

“Mmm,” her father hummed. “The unknown is the worst, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.” Jack took in a sharp breath. “May I? Then I'll go ask the captain if I can be of use.”

“I don't see why not.”

She had no idea what was happening, but then she felt Jack growing close and the bed sank a bit as he leaned over, his breath tickling her cheek. “I told you it would be alright. We made it. Together.”

Rochelle fought to open her eyes, desperate to see his face, to prove to him she truly was well. She managed to blearily blink them open for a second, just long enough to meet a pair of bright blue eyes, as clear as the ocean surrounding their island. She smiled, eyes fluttering closed as she drifted back to sleep. 

 

***

 

Rochelle thought she might go mad. She'd been put on bed rest upon her arrival at her father's estate, which she had agreed with at first; her ankle _was_ broken. But this was bordering on the ridiculous, a month was more than enough time to heal. She'd survived on a bloody island for heaven's sake, she was not a delicate little miss.

However, she was still stuck in her room. It was a grand room, to be sure; whitewashed walls, beautiful wicker furniture, a large wardrobe stuffed full of new dresses, and an ornate bed that was more comfortable than her old one in London.

One wall was taken up by large bay windows with a reading nook, and French double doors that opened onto a balcony. From her position on the bed she could see Charlestown sprawling down to the sea, her father's estate situated atop a hill like a beacon. When she was on the balcony she could make out the port, watch as shipw came and went, wondering if Jack was on one.

He had not come to visit, indeed she had not heard a word from him or about him since she'd been on board the rescue ship. The lack of news angered her to the point where she barely spoke to her father, though the man was busy and hardly noticed. The maids and butlers did though.

It was breakfast time, and one of the maids entered her room with a tray. Rochelle turned, watching the young woman place it on the table next to the bed.

“I wish to see my father,” she said.

“Alright, miss. I'll tell him you wish to speak with him, I'm sure he'll be up after he's eaten and checked–“

“No.” Rochelle shook her head. “I will go to him.”

“But you're on bed rest, miss.”

“I'm fine. Ready a bath, I'll wear the new lavender dress.” Rochelle looked up, caught the other woman's eye. “Please. Truly, I am well enough to go downstairs and see my father.”

“Very well, miss.” The maid nodded. “You eat and I'll draw a bath.”

She reached out, squeezed the maid’s hand. “Thank you.”

Mid-morning had Rochelle knocking on her father's office door. Her ankle was sore, she had used a parasol in place of cane to be careful of the stairs, refusing help from any of her father's employees, wishing to do it on her own, but she had made it.

Her father's voice sounded on the other side, granting her entrance. She was delighted at his surprise when he looked up and found her standing there.

“Rochelle! You should be resting.”

“I've rested enough, father.” She walked into the room, taking a seat primly in the chair before his desk. She arranged the skirts of her dress, fiddled with the white lace lining the sleeves that reached to her elbow.

“Where's Jack?” she asked, breaking the short silence that had fallen over them.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Greene.” She quirked an eyebrow, silently urging her father to continue. “We decided upon that when he enlisted with the Navy.”

“When he what?”

“He has been pardoned for his past... dealings. With a clean slate, I urged him to join the Navy.”

“Ordered him, you mean.” She pursed her lips, trying to quell her anger, sure this was his way of ensuring she never saw Jack again.

“It was a fine deal. He was pardoned as a criminal and ex-pirate, and already promoted to a Sub-Lieutenant. I believe he'll have a promising career ahead of him.” Her father leaned back in his chair, seeming rather pleased with himself.

Rochelle glared at him. “A fine deal, indeed,” she snorted. “All this to keep him away from me. He is my friend, father. He's saved my life more times than I can count!”

“Exactly, and for that I am eternally grateful, which is why he's been afforded these opportunities.”

“You didn't even let him see me.”

“I did, he spoke to you on the way home. After we arrived here he and I had a long chat, and he came to see things my way.”

“And it's always your way, isn't it?” Rochelle stood, looking down her nose at him. “I wasn't in my right mind when I saw him. I should at least have the right to say goodbye to him... to thank him for everything.”

“You may write him. He did leave a letter for you.”

“And you haven't given it to me!?”

“It only arrived today. The lad has been rather busy settling in before his ship launched.” Her father reached out, picking up a sealed envelope from his desk.

Rochelle snatched it from his hands, still glaring. “Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Good.” She turned on her heel and started to leave, back straight.

“What does he mean to you, Rochelle? Honestly.”

She turned back and met her father's gaze straight on. “Everything.”

She left without another word, hobbling up the stairs to her room as quickly as she could. Once she was away from prying eyes, she flopped onto her bed and broke the seal. Jack's penmanship was neater than she would have guessed, but she knew he was educated. He wrote with a strong hand, sure, and just a bit of a flare to it. It was like him; confident and teasing.

_I'm sorry, Rochelle._

_I know that isn't enough, but I truly am. I'm sorry to be writing this letter, I'm sorry I can’t see your face. Most of all I'm sorry this is goodbye._

_I'm sure you're angry with your father, I won't tell you not to be.... I'll just say that I understand, and I wish I had been wrong that day on the beach._

_I wish a lot of things._

_I love you, Rochelle. It's selfish of me to say that now; I should have said it when I had the chance, told you that every day we were on the blighted island. I'm sorry for that too._

_But I do I love you, and I always will._

_\- Jack._

“Stupid, insufferable man!” she rolled her eyes despite the warmth swelling inside her chest at his words. “Well,” she muttered to herself after a moment. “These blasted men want to decide my life? We'll just see about that!”

 

***

 

Jack found it utterly bizarre to be wearing a Naval uniform. Stranger still to be saluted as a commissioned officer.

A few days from port, on their way to Antigua for their new station, he found himself with a break in his duties. The ship he was on was a behemoth gunship, slow and made for warfare, captained by his old friend Mr. Smithson. From Antigua they would be going after pirates, Jack thought it some joke on the Commodore’s part.

Standing on the quarterdeck, looking down at the bubbling sea below, he was reminded of a day when he’d been in similar position, offering Rochelle an orange, and turned away. She had not left his mind since his arrival in Charlestown. He was thankful she was alright, would continue to be safe and sound. That didn't make leaving any easier.

Deciding he would pass his time below deck, possibly reading or helping the surgeon take stock; _something_ that would hopefully occupy his mind. He'd made it down the steps, blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness of the hold, when a commotion from the crows nest caught his attention.

He paused, straining to hear. “Messenger ship coming up the stern!”

That was strange, he thought. Apparently so did several others as he found a gaggle of men milling about when he returned topside.

“What do you see?” Smithson called.

“It's one of ours, sir. Looks to be in a hurry!” The young man in the crows nest called.

“Drop the sails, try to hold position. I want to see if they've a message for us.”

It was scarcely an hour later when the smaller vessel stopped on their port side, requesting permission for a boarding party. The men were put to work, securing lines and bringing out the gangway.

Jack was back on duty, checking course with the helmsman and didn’t pay much attention to the goings on below. But soon there was a rustle in the crew, a tittering wave of gossiping whispers like a bunch of old ninnies.

“What is it?” One of the cabin boys asked from the steps leading to the lower deck, trying to crane his neck to see.

“A woman!” another boy hissed. “Most beautiful woman I've ever seen... I think I'm in love.”

Jack turned, his heart thrumming in his chest. He shouldn't hope – it couldn't be. Though he couldn't think of another woman would commandeer a naval ship, for surely that is what had happened.

He excused himself from the helmsman, who was only half-listening as it was, and pushed past the young men crowding the steps. Shoving his way through the throng of men, he finally caught sight of the woman at the center of all the fuss.

Standing primly in a moss green dress, raven hair pulled back in a low bun, and a small veiled hat sat jauntily atop her head was Rochelle. In her hands was a closed parasol that she thumped against the planks, resting both hands on the handle. She looked at the men around as if she were an angry school teacher, trying to find which of the lads had disrupted her lecture.

Though her ire wasn’t what he took note of; her face was fuller again, the dark tan fading back to her normal pallor, cheeks rosy and fresh. Her hair had a glossy sheen under the noonday sun, and her eyes were focused, bright. His chest ached at the sight of her.

“I am looking for Sub-Lieutenant Jack Greene.” Her voice rose over the din of chatter, effectively silencing the crew. Several men stepped back, allowing Rochelle a clear line of sight, and all eyes turned toward Jack.

He straightened like a proper officer, heels together and shoulders back. “At your service, marm.”

There was a moment where they stood staring at each other, he doubted anyone else noticed the small hitch in her breath when she first caught sight of him. He wondered if she only saw the uniform or if she was noting other changes in him, like he had her. Finally Rochelle forced herself into action, all but stomping up to him. In heeled shoes the top of her head came level with his nose, rather than brushing his chin. She tilted her head back and looked at him. He kept his head lifted, as if undergoing inspection from a senior officer.

“You left without saying goodbye,” she said, voice softer now.

He glanced down, meeting her eyes. “Didn't have much say in the matter.”

“See, that's the problem. You had a little say, I think. I had absolutely no choice, and I am very cross about it.”

“So I see.” His lips twitched. Rochelle glared.

“The fact of the matter is that I am a grown woman; I have survived a disastrous shipwreck and nearly a month on a deserted island. I have become quite headstrong and stubborn.”

Now he laughed, teasing. “You always were.”

“Don't interrupt me, I am making a point.” She waggled a finger at him for emphasis. “After going through these trials I am determined to live my life as I see fit, and not have it governed by anyone but myself. I made my father see the errors of his ways for deciding things on my behalf.”

“Should I be worried?” he wanted to keep it light, uncertain of what she would say or do. He wasn't sure he could handle any type of rejection on her part.

“You are a right ass!” She shoved him, forcing him to reel back a step. “I made my choice weeks ago, you know I did! Father says I'm allowed to stay in Antigua while you finish out your post assignment. After that you and I will return to Charlestown.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing, wondering how she managed such a thing. “He's leaving you unattended with an ex-pirate?”

“Not an ex-pirate. A Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, whom I am in love with. But I do have a letter from father for Mr. Smithson, hoping he will keep an eye on me.”

“Oh.” Jack let out his breath in a whoosh.

“I believe this would be the point where you kiss the girl, Mr. Greene,” Smithson called. “I'll even turn my back so I won't have to lie to her father about untoward relations between the pair of you.” And he did just that, even so much as barking an order to the crew.

Afforded a small piece of privacy, Jack looked down at Rochelle. “I only–“

“Jack?”

“Aye?”

“Be quiet!” Rochelle gripped his lapels and yanked him down for a kiss.


End file.
